Work Text:
[💌]
You are Blair Donovan;
The bass from the Blackthorne Wolves fraternity house rattles through the floor beneath your boots as bodies crowd shoulder-to-shoulder beneath flashing lights and spilt alcohol, the air thick with sweat, beer, and reckless spring semester chaos. Hockey jerseys blur through the crowd beside tiny skirts and drunken freshmen while your best friends disappear ahead of you, laughing, already lost in the party. You stay near the kitchen counter instead, oversized cream sweater sleeves pulled over your hands as you scan the room with detached amusement and exhaustion from balancing classes, work-study shifts, and emotional burnout all at once. Blackthorne worships its hockey team, and nowhere is that clearer than inside the Wolves’ frat house, where rich athletes walk through parties like celebrities and girls willingly destroy themselves for temporary attention from boys with bruised knuckles and trust funds. You’ve spent three years avoiding exactly that kind of man. Then the atmosphere shifts almost instantly as attention shifts to the kitchen entrance, where Jeon Jungkook walks in, surrounded by noise, confidence, and effortless arrogance. Tall, broad-shouldered, tattoos visible beneath pushed-up sleeves, dark hair messy beneath a cap, he looks less like a college student and more like the kind of mistake people make knowingly. Girls straighten when he passes, teammates clap him on the back, and someone chants his name for tomorrow night’s game while he only smirks lazily in response. You know exactly who he is despite never speaking to him before: Blackthorne’s hockey captain, campus legend, serial flirt, and future professional player. For half a second, his eyes meet yours through the crowd, dark and curious beneath flashing lights, and something sharp settles low in your stomach before you immediately look away, unwilling to become another girl caught staring at Jeon Jungkook like he invented breathing.
The moment breaks as Jungkook's attention is pulled away by one of his teammates. A loud, lanky guy with bright energy—Jung Hoseok—slings an arm around his shoulders, steering him toward the keg while chanting something about a pre-game ritual. The crowd swallows them, and the kitchen feels marginally less charged.
Harper Mills: Sliding up beside you, holding two red solo cups. “Saw that. Don't even think about it. He's a walking red flag in a letterman jacket.”
Emery Rhodes: Appearing on your other side, glitter on her cheeks. “Oh my god, he totally looked at you. I give it two weeks before he’s sliding into your DMs.”
Chloe Bennett: Shaking her head, phone in hand. “Emery, no. Blair has a crush on Luca, remember? The nice, safe, non-hockey-playing musician who doesn’t have a body count higher than the tuition cost.”
Harper Mills: “Exactly. Jungkook’s the type to love-bomb you for a month and then ghost. You don’t need that energy.”
Across the room, Jungkook laughs at something Hoseok says, head thrown back, the sound cutting through the music. He takes a long drink from a cup, eyes scanning the crowd again before settling back in your direction for a half-second too long.
Blair Donovan: You roll your eyes as you take a sip of your drink, a scoff leaves your mouth. “I have no interest in that protein basher. Plus, I’m still working up the courage to say more than two words to Luca!”
The party pulses around you, a sea of swaying bodies and shouted conversations. Jungkook finally turns away completely, pulled into a circle of hockey players who are now chanting something about the upcoming game against their rivals, Northwood University. The energy is shifting, the playful chaos sharpening into something more competitive, more intense.
Harper Mills: “Good. Keep that energy.” She nudges your shoulder with hers. “Speaking of Luca, I heard he’s playing an acoustic set at The Brew later. We should go. Low-key. Less…” She gestures vaguely at the frat house chaos. “...this.”
Emery Rhodes: “Ooh, yes! A cute, quiet coffee shop date. Well, a group date. But still! Way better than watching Jungkook try to shotgun a beer without spilling on his stupidly expensive sneakers.”
Chloe Bennett: Glancing at her phone. “It starts at nine. We have time to ditch this mess and grab food first. I’m starving. And Blair, you’re wearing his favourite colour.” She points to your cream sweater. “It’s a sign.”
As your friends plot the evening, a new wave of movement comes from the entrance. The crowd parts slightly, and a familiar, softer presence appears. Luca Moretti has just walked in, guitar case slung over his shoulder, looking slightly out of place but smiling warmly at someone who greets him. He’s dressed in a simple, dark sweater and jeans, a stark contrast to the jersey-clad athletes around him.
Blair Donovan: You almost choke on your drink when you see him, quickly turning around to face away from him. “What is he doing here? He never comes to these parties!”
Your sudden pivot is a little too sharp, and you nearly elbow a passing frat brother carrying a tower of beer cans. He stumbles but recovers, shooting you a dirty look before disappearing into the throng. The sight of Luca Moretti in the middle of a Wolves party is, admittedly, bizarre. He usually sticks to the coffee shops, the library, and the low-key open mic nights.
Harper Mills: Following your gaze. “Whoa. Okay, that’s new. Maybe he’s branching out. Or maybe he heard a certain redhead was here.”
Emery Rhodes: Grinning wickedly. “This is perfect! The universe is literally handing you an opportunity. Talk to him! Right now!”
Blair Donovan: “Haha, noooo. That is not going to happen.” You stress out the rest of your drink.
Luca scans the room, his gaze thoughtful. It doesn't land on you immediately; he's looking for someone, maybe a friend who invited him. He shifts the guitar case on his shoulder, looking comfortable but distinctly separate from the party's frantic energy.
Chloe Bennett: Puts a hand on your arm. “Breathe. It's fine. He's just a guy. And you look amazing.”
Harper Mills: Leaning in, voice dropping. “Okay, new plan. We create a distraction. Emery and I will go 'accidentally' spill a drink near him. You swoop in with napkins. It's foolproof.”
Emery Rhodes: Already grabbing a full cup from the counter. “On it! Ready for Operation: Clumsy Wingwoman?”
Blair Donovan: You place your empty cup down and stretch. “I think I’m going to call it for tonight, I have class tomorrow.”
The party rages on, but your friends immediately deflate at your announcement. Emery lowers the cup she was about to weaponise, and Harper sighs, her protective wingwoman mission aborted.
Harper Mills: Frowning. “Seriously? It's barely ten. Luca's literally right there.”
Chloe Bennett: Checking her phone. “Your first class isn't until eleven, you night owl. But if you're tired, we'll go. This place is getting kind of gross anyway.”
Emery Rhodes: Pouting. “But my distraction was going to be legendary! Fine. Let's get pizza and go back to your dorm. We can still catch Luca's set another time.”
As you start to weave through the crowd toward the front door, a loud, familiar laugh cuts through the music again. Jungkook is now leaning against a wall, surrounded by a few teammates, including Kim Taehyung, who is animatedly telling a story. Jungkook's eyes track your movement across the room, his smirk fading into a more unreadable expression as he watches your group leave. Luca, having found his friend near the stereo, is completely oblivious to your exit.
Blair Donovan: As you leave the party, you are too engrossed in a conversation with the girls about your recent assignment that you weren’t paying attention to your surroundings. You accidentally bump into someone, you turn around and look up to see it was Luca. You feel your cheeks immediately start heating up, and you know for a fact you are blushing. “I…er…S…I….ah fuck.” You quickly turn around on your heels, keeping your head down and rush out of the party.
You practically flee the frat house, the cool night air hitting your flushed face as you stumble down the front steps. Your heart is hammering in your chest, equal parts embarrassment and adrenaline from the brief, mortifying collision.
Harper Mills: Bursting out the door behind you, laughing. “Oh my god! You just ran away from him! You literally bumped into your crush and then went full Roadrunner!”
Emery Rhodes: Following closely, clutching her stomach. “‘I...er...S...I...ah fuck.’ That's going in the quote book. That was iconic. And he totally saw you blush!”
Chloe Bennett: The last one out, shaking her head with a smile. “Okay, that was... a choice. But hey, you made contact! That's progress. Even if it was followed by a tactical retreat.”
The heavy door swings shut, muffling the party's roar. The street is quieter, filled with the sounds of other students heading to different parties or back to their dorms. You can still feel the ghost of the bump against your shoulder and the searing heat in your cheeks.
Blair Donovan: You let out a groan as you walk back to your dormitory building. “God, I want the ground to just swallow me up.”
The four of you walk quickly across the darkened campus, the sounds of the frat party fading behind you. The air is crisp, a welcome relief from the stuffy, beer-soaked house. Streetlights cast long shadows on the pavement, and the silhouette of your dormitory building looms ahead.
Harper Mills: Looping her arm through yours. “Okay, but let's be real. That was the most action you've had all semester. You touched him. Albeit with the grace of a startled deer, but still.”
Emery Rhodes: Skipping a little ahead, turning to walk backwards. “He looked so confused! But in a cute way. Like a puppy who just got bumped into. You definitely left an impression.”
Chloe Bennett: Pulling out her keys as you reach the dorm entrance. “The important thing is you survived. And now we get pizza and can dissect every millisecond of that interaction in the safety of your room.”
Blair Donovan: “Do we have to, really? I never want to think about that again!” You say as you push your dorm room open and make a beeline for your bed.
Your dorm room is a sanctuary of soft lighting and organised chaos—a stark contrast to the party you just fled. Your Creative Writing textbooks are stacked neatly on your desk beside a half-finished cup of cold coffee, and a string of fairy lights casts a warm glow over the photos of you and your friends taped to the wall. You collapse face-first onto your bed, burying your groan into the comforter.
Harper Mills: Flopping down onto the beanbag chair in the corner. “Oh, we absolutely have to. This is crucial character development. We're ordering extra cheese to fuel the analysis.”
Emery Rhodes: Immediately grabs your laptop to pull up the pizza place's website. “Okay, replay: you bump into him. You look up. Your face goes full tomato mode. You stammer what might be the beginnings of "sorry" mixed with a system crash. And then you yeet yourself out of there. It was art.”
Chloe Bennett: Gently pulling your shoes off for you. “It was human, Blair. A very relatable, very human response to overwhelming cute-boy proximity. Now, do you want pineapple on this pizza, or are we respecting ourselves tonight?”
As your friends debate pizza toppings, your phone buzzes on the nightstand. A notification lights up the screen: a calendar alert for your work-study shift at the ice rink café tomorrow afternoon. The thought of having to be functional and polite to hungover hockey players feels like a monumental task.